The desert night pressed cold against the canvas of the imperial tent, the flicker of oil lamps casting long shadows across maps strewn with markers of Roman and Palmyran positions. Outside, the muffled sound of soldiers at their campfires drifted through the still air, but within, Empress Aurelia sat alone, armored shoulders bent over the table. The golden mask of Sol Invictus rested nearby, its hollow gaze fixed upon her as if judging her resolve. Soon the Palmyrene usurpers would be dealt with for good.

She traced a finger across eastern territories, then stopping at Emesa. Her lips tight in thought, then broke the silence. She would chase them to Emesa and end the secessionist threat for good. Just then the flaps of her tent opened behind her as she had made her mind on how she would restore the eastern parts of the empire.